The crowd around him began to disperse, their interest in the beggar's humiliation fading. Leon turned his gaze to the marketplace, his mind working rapidly. If money and power were out of reach for now, he needed information.
He spotted a group of merchants, their clothing cleaner and finer than the common folk's. They laughed and exchanged coin with ease—proof of their status. If anyone knew how this world worked, it was them.
Leon moved closer, his stance now deliberate. He wouldn't beg. He wouldn't steal. But he would bargain.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice steady.
One of the merchants turned, looking him up and down with mild disdain. "What do you want, beggar?"
Leon's lips curled into a smirk.
The merchant studied Leon, a calculating glint in his eyes. "If you think you're so clever, let's put your words to the test."
Leon nodded, stepping forward. "Give me a day to analyze the market. I'll show you an opportunity no one else has seen."
The merchant scoffed but motioned for one of his assistants. "Fine. This is Elias. He'll watch you. If you try anything funny, you won't like what happens next."
Elias, a sharp-eyed young man, crossed his arms. "Follow me."
Leon followed, his mind already racing with strategies. If he played this right, he wouldn't just earn food—he'd earn leverage.
Elias led him to the heart of the market, where merchants bartered and customers haggled. Leon watched, listened, and analyzed. Within hours, he spotted the gaps—overlooked demands, inefficient pricing, and untapped opportunities.
By nightfall, he returned to the merchant, a confident smirk on his lips. "You've been underselling your silks. Instead of selling by the roll, offer them in limited pre-made designs. Market them as 'exclusive imports from distant lands.' Nobles will fight to outbid each other."
The merchant's eyes gleamed. "Interesting. And if you're wrong?"
Leon's smirk deepened. "I won't be."
The merchant chuckled, tossing Leon a piece of bread. "Eat. You have until morning to prove your worth."
Leon took a bite, determination burning in his chest. This was just the beginning
Leon sat on a wooden crate in the dimly lit storeroom, chewing slowly on the piece of bread given to him. He savored each bite, not because it was delicious, but because it was fuel—fuel for his mind, for his strategy. He was a man who had once commanded billions, yet here he was, reduced to nothing more than a beggar relying on scraps.
But that wouldn't last. He would climb again.
Elias, the merchant's assistant, stood near the entrance, arms crossed, watching him like a hawk. The young man didn't trust him, but Leon didn't care about trust—he cared about results.
"You've got until morning," Elias reminded him. "Better come up with something good, or you're back on the streets."
Leon wiped the crumbs from his lips and leaned back, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Stacks of fabrics, crates of dried goods, and metal trinkets lay scattered around. The merchant's business was well-stocked, but it lacked vision. A common mistake. Most businessmen operated on routine; they didn't see the bigger picture.
He smirked. That's where he thrived.
"Tell me," Leon began, his voice smooth, confident. "What's the most expensive item in this shop?"
Elias hesitated, then pointed toward a crate covered in velvet cloth. "That would be the starweave silk imported from the eastern isles. Only nobles can afford it."
Leon walked over and lifted the fabric. It shimmered even in the dim light, the threads catching the glow of the torches. He ran his fingers over it, assessing the texture, the quality. Exquisite. But raw material alone wasn't enough.
"You sell this by the roll?" Leon asked.
Elias frowned. "Of course. That's how it's always been sold."
Leon smirked. There it was. The flaw.
"You're thinking like a merchant," he said, turning to face Elias. "But if you want to make real money, you need to think like the buyer. Nobles don't want fabric—they want status. If they buy a roll, they have to take it to a tailor, design something, wait weeks before they can show it off."
Elias's expression remained skeptical, but he listened.
Leon continued, his voice carrying the same commanding tone he had used in boardrooms filled with executives. "Now, imagine this: instead of selling fabric by the roll, you sell exclusive, limited-edition designs. Pre-made robes, cloaks, dresses, each with a story behind it—'Woven by the eastern masters, imbued with protective charms, owned only by five nobles in the kingdom.' You market it as an elite collection instead of mere cloth. The price skyrockets."
Elias's brows furrowed. "You're saying… we sell the idea, not just the product?"
Leon's smirk widened. Finally, he's getting it.
"Perception is everything," he said. "We create demand by making the product rare. We invite only select nobles to buy them. Once the elite start wearing these 'exclusive' garments, everyone else will scramble to get their hands on them. But—" He raised a finger, "—we keep the supply limited. That way, the price never drops."
Elias stared at him, processing the idea. Then, to Leon's surprise, he chuckled. "You talk big for a man who had to beg for bread."
Leon leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "And yet, in less than an hour, I've already found a way to triple your master's profits."
Elias said nothing for a long moment. Then, with a reluctant nod, he turned toward the door. "Wait here. I'll tell the boss."
Leon watched him leave, exhaling slowly. Now came the real test.